Come Find Me
by orionsnights
Summary: In New America, women have been stripped of their rights. Families have been torn apart. War is never ending. Bella and Edward have been separated, not knowing where the other is - or if they’re even still alive. They’ll do anything it takes to find each other, but at what cost?
1. Gray

Everyday that I wake up, I forget where I am, just for a moment. I forget all that has happened in the past few years, all that I have lost. All that I face every single time I leave my bed. For that small, desperate second, I feel peace.

Sometimes I wake up with my eyes still closed, and believe that when I open them, I will find my husband lying next to me, his broad muscular back facing me, steady with his sleepy breaths. Sun would be curling in from the slats in the blinds, illuminating the dust particles dancing through the air, and I would turn into the warmth. Days like those would usually end up with coffee-flavored kisses, followed by lazy love making in our bed. Oh, how I long for those days - how I beg and plead that when I opened my eyes, I would find such a scene before me, and all of this will have been a nightmare. All the death, and destruction, and war, and imprisonment under false God given rights didn't happen. At least, not during my lifetime.

And then I open my eyes.

And he's not there. No one is.

So this is, in fact, real.

The room I currently inhabit is all grey. Gray painted walls, gray comforter covering lighter gray sheets. The floors are a light wood, but the area rug that covers it is gray. The clothes they have issued me are gray. I think the color is supposed to make me less appealing to those around me. _It is in man's nature to want_, they told me. _It is up to you to let them know you are not for them to want._ I should have told them they were wrong. After all, gray was always a flattering color on me. And men would always want what they couldn't have. But I wasn't fond of being tased, and that's what any backtalking would award me.

I slip out of my charcoal bed, clothed in my long gray nightgown, slipping on my matching bathrobe and slippers. Just outside of my door is a tray, left for me by the maids, filled with approved foods for _women_ to eat. Believe it or not, it differs from what the men are allowed to eat. Despite my current position, they want me to eat food that would promote health. Fertility. But I can't get into that right now.

They've left me oatmeal, and a hot beverage. Luckily, it's not plain today. I must be in the good graces of the cook, for she's added milk and berries. Instead of tea, I've been awarded coffee, a rarity. We're in the household of a high ranking official, so we get it more than others. Thank fuck for that.

Cherishing my breakfast, the only meal I get in solitude, I sit on the slate colored rug and read one of the books I've been allotted this month. They've allowed me _Jane Eyre_. Pompous fucks that they are, I've been on good behavior. I've been given something written by a woman, which is rare. They usually don't like to encourage acts of individualism such as writing. Those days are long gone. Instead of writing, why not study our bible? Why not take care of the household? Why not sew, or garden, or knit, or some other trivial bullshit deemed soft enough for us women?

I suppose I'm lucky in some regard - I'm one of very few women who were allowed to keep a job, so I'm not forced to needle-pointe every day. Unbeknownst to me, my father was a very high profile figure in the uprising, which led to me getting a decent position, even after he was killed. May he burn in hell.

In the _Before_, I ran a few of his business that he ceased to care for, and had taken over as CEO of a technology firm in addition to the family efforts. When they began to overtake female-run businesses, I was forcibly removed from the building of my tech firm, and made to sign it all back over to my father and brothers. Now, I was assigned to be the "personal assistant" to a Senior General of the New America. It mostly involved fetching his meals and drinks, and the occasional transcribing or note taking. It was quite demeaning to be moved from CEO to the personal assistant of a facist, but I was alive. And that's what mattered right now.

Working for this Senior General is to my benefit. At times, he wants me in ways more _personal_ than is allowed in the New America. His fondness for me makes him loose lipped, and I like to take advantage of that. Most of the time, he allows me to stay in the room during important meetings, thinking me more of an accessory, an ash-colored statue with the curves they enjoy. They like to look at me, so young and fresh compared to their wives. They mistakenly believe me to be docile and loyal, but I'm gathering. I listen and listen and then I wait. One day, the time will come for me to use this information against them. For now, I'm biding my time.

….

At the conclusion of my breakfast, I dress for my day from my prescribed wardrobe of gray dresses. No more pants for me. No more pants for any woman here. Today is quite overcast, so I choose a long sleeve turtleneck sweater dress. It's loose enough that they allow me to wear it, but still flattering enough that it will satisfy the Senior General. I am still allowed heels, although I must wear nude stockings and my toes must be covered. I'm not sure why. Perhaps to protect my virtue from foot fetishists. Perhaps they don't know why either.

Hot tools have been banned, so I'm stuck with my natural wave pattern. They force us to wear our hair up, however, so I slick it back into a low bun. Must hide beautiful hair from the men, too. What a silly, sadistic life these men have made for themselves. Deprive themselves of these things, only to lust after them with a renewed sense of urgent interest. Only to sneak around and demand it from women anyway, after they've stripped these women of any power.

Makeup is also banned. It is a black market item you occasionally see a Wife with, but never a Gray Woman. They allow me the simple vanities of lotion and Vaseline for my lips. I'm allowed some oils when I bathe, but that is it. Usually, I use the oil on my eyebrows to groom them, and on my lashes to soften them. Luckily they're naturally very dark and thick. No need for mascara. The Wife of this Senior General has very sparse, wiry blonde lashes. So I suppose I'm lucky.

I'm supposed to report downstairs soon, to my professional duties, but I stop for a moment and make my bed, then kneel beside it. I fold my hands on the bedspread. To anyone else, it would appear as if I'm praying. And perhaps I am, but not to any higher deity. No, I'm praying to my husband, wherever he is. I have no way of knowing if he's even alive or not, but I choose to believe he is. He was always smarter than me, especially at surviving. So, I recite the words that I need him to hear. I picture his brilliant green eyes, his brown-bronze hair, his stubbled jaw.

I promise I'll find you.

I'll get out of here and I'll find you.

I'll do whatever I have to.

Please just don't hold it against me.

I love you.

* * *

_A/N: Should I continue?_


	2. French Press

_**A/N**: Please read this before continuing on! _

_As some of you have kind of figured out, this story is strongly inspired by The Handmaids Tale. Any likeness, I do not own. Same goes with any character names or likeness to Twilight. I just love the concept and wanted to put my own twist on it. _

_Many have asked: will there be cheating in this story? I'm hoping I don't scare too many readers away with some of the things that will happen in this story but I understand it will be inevitable. I hope that you give me a chance, but I understand some readers have their hard limits. To answer your question, yes, this story involves both Bella and Edward sleeping with people other than each other. While either party may feel guilty, they have an understanding that will be gone over later in this story. I don't see it as a complete betrayal, but if you do not wish to read a story where Bella and Edward sleep with others, my story is not for you. _

_I hope some of you are still with me. If you enjoy, please review and share with others you think will like it! I'm terrible at replying to reviews, but I promise I will try to get better! _

_xx orionsnights_

* * *

Senior General James Dubois is an idiot.

That's just my opinion.

I'm not exactly sure how he rose through the ranks, but it's pretty clear to me why he became a part of the uprising. He oozes arrogance, and the policies he has enforced are blatantly sexist, racist, and whatever other discriminatory _-ist_ you could imagine. His blonde hair has begun to fade into grey, and his blue eyes are cold. Chilling, in fact. His wife and child also sport the common aryan traits he does, a cute little fascist family.

And here I am. The darkness to their light. A temptress in their castle.

The Senior General is cocky in a way only the male leadership of this new world could be, which further solidifies to me how he's made it this far in the New America. It's this kind of cockiness that we saw in the last president of the Old America, some bold, uneducated man who talked too much for my liking. And yet, people took a liking to him, and he managed to get re-elected for a second term. What I don't think the people who voted for him realized is the hell he would lead us into. Or maybe they did. Maybe I was just blind.

The Senior General….. likes me, to say the least. It was easy to read the fascination in his eyes when he looked at me, the stares I pretended not to notice as I worked at my desk in his office. After a while, the lingering gazes have now become lingering touches. Each time, I stiffen and smile. No need to overreact and get on his bad side, not when I truly need to be here. He hasn't propositioned me for anything, I rationalize. And then that voice in the back of my mind: he hasn't tried anything _yet_.

This morning, as I enter the home office, the Senior General is already accompanied by his bodyguard, who goes by Jasper, along with several other men in similar military uniforms. As I step into the room, I make eye contact with Jasper, but quickly look away. I don't want to take any liberties with so many other men here, so instead of walking over to my desk, I stand by the door and wait, looking at the floor. Jasper is talking, and I'm trying to listen, but his southern drawl is low and I can't catch everything. I try not to tap my foot impatiently, but it's frustrating. I know he holds a lot of information that would prove invaluable should I ever escape.

And I will escape. I'm just waiting for the right time.

I know that Jasper was once a high-ranking military official in the Old America. I think he still is, but I don't understand the new military structure, and don't really care to. All I know is it's large and overpowering enough that other countries haven't even attempted a coup, which is frustrating in and of itself. I know that he's lethal. After an attempt on the Senior General's life once on an excursion to the Capital, I was a witness to his swift execution of the attacker. I'm not keen to see him in action again, mostly because I don't like to see the other side fail to win.

For some reason, I trust Jasper. I'm not sure if it's his clear blue eyes, or if it's who he reminds me of, but I'm inclined to believe he's looking out for me, that he's on my side. And that's dangerous. It'll probably get me killed, and I need to make it out of here. I need to see _you_ one more time.

Some days, I can't even think your name. The memories are too painful.

A voice startles me out of my dizzying thoughts. "Ms. Gray, we'll be dealing with some security measures today," the Senior General informs me. "Perhaps you could help the maids instead of working from the office."

I try not to grit my teeth. I'm angry that he took away a chance for me to eavesdrop on such a conversation, but I try not to show it. I remain impassive, simply nodding.

"Of course, sir."

I take a final glance at Jasper, who is looking at me with his head bowed, gaze intent. I wonder why he looks at me. I wonder what he sees. Does he only see shades of grey? Does he see who I used to be, hidden behind this film of docility?

Does he know who I am?

I dismiss that thought. The only people who know that are on the outside. It would be dangerous for anyone on the inside to know.

I exit the office swiftly, leaving the men behind, knowing they all watched me leave.

I wish I could blend in better.

After slipping off my heels and putting on slippers instead, I head into the kitchen. The maids scowl, not liking my company, but put me to work anyway, and I find myself kneading bread for hours. It's a soothing task, mindless and numbing, and I enjoy knowing that my work would later turn into bread loaves and dinner rolls and, oh, the lucky family gets cinnamon rolls. Not me, though. Sugar would be bad for me.

At this point, I'd kill for a sweet treat. I don't even know if it would taste good anymore, so accustomed to blandess I've become. My tastebuds join the palette of gray.

It's later, as I'm peeling carrots and potatoes for a beef bourguignon, that a male presence enters the kitchen and causes me to look up. Dark blue eyes stare back, and it's then I notice that I'm the only woman in the kitchen, the other house staff having moved onto cleaning or laundry, or some other form of work now that they trust me to properly prep for their upcoming meals.

"The General wants some coffee," he tells me, his voice gruff, and he clears his throat. I nod, wiping my hands on the white apron I have been given.

"Of course. Let me wash my hands quickly and I'll make some."

"No rush," he tells me, and I shoot him a look. We both know that anything done for the Senior General is to be rushed. He is of the ultimate priority in this household.

I feel his eyes on me as I move to the sink, washing my hands thoroughly, then collecting the french press and coffee grounds. It's only once I've poured the grounds and started some water in the kettle that I turn to look back at him. His gaze is intense and I don't know how to respond. It's been so long since anyone has looked at me the way he currently is, and I take in the slope of his nose, the fullness of his bottom lip, and remember what it's like to be kissed by lips so similar. I remember the time when I promised those were the only lips I would ever kiss again, and then the world fell apart.

Other promises needed to be kept instead.

"How is your day so far?" I inquire softly, eager to break the silence, to hear this man talk. He inhales, his eyes darting to my mouth as I bite my lip, waiting for his response.

"Quite well. Are you enjoying a break from your office?"

I hide my smile. "I admit, I enjoy being away from a certain… presence." I whisper this sentence, and pray this man is actually on my side and not the Senior General's, who I'm blatantly referencing.

"I can understand such inclinations," he admits, smiling slightly, and I almost close my eyes in relief. Because that is what I'm currently feeling: extreme relief. I'm almost giddy with the need to talk to him, finally having a comrade, but to be frivolous with my words would be risky, and I'm not here to take excessive risks. Instead, I look into his eyes, and we hold each other's gaze, and my heart beats quickly, loving this thrill of doing something illicit. We stare and stare until the scream from the boiling water in the kettle startles me, and I quickly turn around, preparing the french press and a tray of cream and sugar and mugs for Jasper to take with him. Once everything has been prepped and the press has been completed after the water has steeped in the grounds long enough, I ignore the desire to pour a cup for myself. Such liberties are forbidden, and I long for the freedom I once had. I move to hand Jasper the tray, but he shakes his head at me.

"Make me a cup first. The way you like it."

I choose not to think too hard about what he is asking, and pour the first cup from the press enjoying the richness of the coffee, and then adding too much cream and a spoonful of sugar. I stir the contents, then hand him the cup. He doesn't take it, but keeps his eyes on me. I notice his eyes are not the ice blue of the Senior General, but instead a warm, deep ocean blue. I almost swear I can smell seawater.

"You try it first," he orders, and I falter.

"I'm not allo…" I start, but he shakes his head.

"You first." He gazes at me, challenging, and I raise the mug to my lips and take a long pull. I can't help but close my eyes, enjoying the creamy sweetness added in, so different from the black coffee they give me. I think that they must give me the final dregs of the pot and mix it with hot water whenever they allow me coffee, because it's nowhere near as strong as this. I open my eyes to find his gaze intent on my face, and I push the coffee back towards him. He takes it, his fingers brushing against my own, and I feel bold with feminine energy. It's all I have in this new world that seems to be entirely my own. Jasper spins the cup around and sips from the same side of the coffee mug that I did, and smirks at me as he adds it back onto the tray.

"Thank you, Bella," he whispers, and he leaves as suddenly as he appeared, this time taking the tray with him. I'm frozen after he leaves, savoring the sugar on my tongue, creating a film on my teeth, and don't move until one of the maids comes in and reprimands me for being idle.

Later, I don't see Jasper and the other leave, and thoughts of him take over my mind until he morphs into _you._

I miss you.

But I can't think of you. Not yet.

Too many promises were made.


	3. Allies

**Chapter 3 - Allies**

Dinner is consistently an uncomfortable affair.

Today is no different.

I'm required to eat with the family, even though I'm not a member. If anything, I'm a member of the household staff. I'd much rather be in the kitchen, eating rice with the maids while standing around the butcher block island and whispering gossip. Instead, I'm forced to be here. The Senior General requested it, and you cannot disregard what he says. He's the man. I am not.

His wife's name is Ruth. She hates me, but I suppose that's to be expected. I'm everything she's not - young, decent genetics, and best of all, forbidden - and her husband specifically asked me to be here. She probably thinks we're having an affair. We're not, but she doesn't know that. I think he wants to - he doesn't hide his interest very well. I'm trying to get out of here before that happens.

There's more to do.

I can't leave yet.

Tonight, Ruth is feeling particularly aggressive. She's glaring at me from her seat across from me, then viciously stabbing her food with her spoon before chewing with her mouth open. She's positively disgusting, and I hate looking at her, but it's not in my nature to stand down. I look at her back, taking dainty bites of my food. I was allowed some of the beef bourguignon that I helped make, which is a nice respite from the usual dry chicken they serve me. I even got a slice of the bread that I made, which they rarely allow me. I wonder if it's to keep me slim. I wonder if it's simply the Senior General's way to control me.

"Dinner is delicious, Miss Gray. Your hard work today is noted." He tells me from the head of the table. I don't move my gaze from Ruth as I sip my water.

"Thank you, Senior General."

"Ruth, Miss Gray spent hours in the kitchen today. The kitchen staff said she was a great help, never complaining." He continues on, making the tense atmosphere even more claustrophobic. I wonder if he enjoys the conflict, or if he's just oblivious. I'm leaning towards the latter.

"Perhaps she should be moved to kitchen staff then," Ruth adds in primly, but through her thin lips, it's more of a snarl. "Why waste such talent on office work?"

Her rhetorical question catches the ire of the Senior General, who no longer seems as amiable as he did at first. I'm sure he didn't expect to hear any back-talk from his mild wife. I almost admire her for it.

"Well, Miss Grey is an ... asset in the office. Her aid is invaluable, too much so to waste in the kitchen. The legacy of her father is imprinted in her, inherently."

It's a line of bullshit. He likes the way I look, sitting in the corner of the room, obediently following his directions when his work buddies come in to see him. They think he's lucky he got me. They envy him. They don't know that I'll be his downfall. Or that I'm taking them down with him.

No one else talks for the rest of dinner, and I wait until I'm dismissed to my room. They might enjoy dessert in their sitting room while watching the news or go to bed early for a dry fuck, but I'm not afforded such things. Instead, I go upstairs to my monochrome sanctuary and perform my nightly routine.

I don't have a mirror anymore. It was the first thing Ruth took away from me. I wonder if I look the same, sometimes. I wonder if my reflection in the window is accurate still, as marred as it is by the outer world. How silly I am, looking for a reflection in my coffee spoon each morning. I wonder if you would still like the way I look here. You always liked me barefaced and natural.

My feet are a bit sore from standing most of the day and my hands feel dry from washing them as much as I did in the kitchen. My bathroom has a claw-footed tub, which would have once been considered a luxury Before. Now, a mirror would be considered a luxury. Or perhaps some proper moisturizer. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but it's the little things you take for granted that are suddenly ripped away from you, and you crave them with an almost ridiculous yearning when they're gone.

In the bath is when I remember you the most. How many times did we bathe together? Too many to even recount. I still remember the way you felt on our wedding night, under the hot water and excessive amounts of bubble bath - the way the water sloshed over the bathtub as I moved over you. I'm tempted to reach beneath the water and _really_ remember but I'm tired and feeling slightly ill this evening. The bread probably wasn't settling well with me.

I wrapped up my shower and dressed in a new nightgown, this one more of a satin, covering it with my robe and my slippers. I brushed out my hair which was reaching my waist, ridiculously long, then laid down onto the bed, my stomach rolling, and settled into an uneasy sleep.

I couldn't have been asleep long before I was gasping awake, sweaty and hot. I claw at your side of the bed, searching for skin, but you're not there. It's dark in my room and the gasping continues for a few moments, my wheezing breaths the only remnants of my nightmare. I wish I remembered what it was about, but I never do. I wish you were here to hold me while I fall back asleep. Instead, I'm still alone.

I slip silently out of bed, tiptoeing out of my room and down the stairs towards the kitchen. The house is asleep, so no one should catch me illicitly drinking tap water. After I've gotten back to a reasonable temperature and can breathe easily, I set the glass in the sink and start to head up towards my room. As I exit the kitchen, though, I catch movement further down the hall and look up, heart suddenly beating furiously. For a brief second, I think it's you - a man in all black, wearing a beanie pulled low. But then I catch the blonde hair curling around his ears, and I am met with wide ocean blue eyes. For a second, we stare at each other fearfully. It takes me a second to fully grasp what I'm seeing - Jasper, dressed in all black, sneaking out of the Senior General's office in the middle of the night with rolled up papers gripped tightly in one hand.

Slowly, he unfreezes himself, raising his finger to his lips in a shushing motion, and I nod jerkily at him in understanding. He moves then, brushing past me and slipping silently out the door, leaving only a slight scent of clove cigarettes in the air. I wait until the scent has faded before I run back to my room as quickly as I can without making noise.

Back in my sanctuary, I collapse onto the bed, grinning into my pillow giddily. I was right. Jasper is an ally.

And soon, I'll have what I need to get the fuck out of here. 

* * *

__

_A/N: Maybe an EPOV next? Thoughts so far?_


	4. Front Lines

**Chapter 4 - Front Lines**

**EPOV**

Bullets shatter into the wall behind me and I quickly duck around the corner, realizing how close I was to death. This was supposed to be a safe space, untouched. We didn't realize moving further west would have us meeting with the militia of New America. They were attempting to expand, and now it was up to us to prevent it from happening.

The Canadian government had rallied people to join our movement, so we had grown large enough to fight the New America militia back. Activists from all over the world have traveled to work with us, united in the belief that this new government is inherently evil. That these terrorists have killed countless people, have committed such heinous acts of racism, sexism, gender discrimination, religious discrimination, anything you could possibly think of.

And they considered me their interim leader. So here I was, in the middle of war, trying to lead people, even though sometimes I felt like I could barely lead myself to make decent decisions.

"Move, move, move!" I shout over my shoulder, shepherding the group of prisoners we had freed from their cages, armed rebel soldiers leading the way.

"Cullen!" I hear a shout and look over to Leah, one of our top rebel soldiers. She's been with us from the start and has saved me more times than I can count. But then again, she just considered it repayment from the fate that she'd been saved from herself.

A fate _she_ was currently living.

"What is it, Leah?"

"Sam's squad is holding them off, they said to get the refugees out and they'll start to fall back."

"How long can they hold?"

"He said to hurry. We want a few to live and report back to their Capitol."

I nod and push the last of the refugees through towards the trucks. Another spatter of bullets embeds itself in the wall next to me, and at this point, I'm annoyed enough to return the favor.

Making sure my gun is loaded, I turn the corner, trigger held down. I watch passively as the enemy falls, and as soon as I'm out of bullets, I motion to Leah and Sam's crew, and we run towards the trucks. My radio buzzes, and I quickly press a button to speak. Bullets flare around me and I duck behind an abandoned car, the rest of the crew diving in behind me. "Emmett, start the trucks. We're coming in hot."

"Copy," Emmett's voice comes in, and we can hear the trucks roaring engines start. I look around frantically, searching for the best route to get us to the trucks safely.

"We're just going to have to run, Cullen," Sam yells at me, as bullets spray into the car we're behind. I shake my head.

"No. You guys run, I'll be right behind you." I quickly load my gun, then start to settle into a spot where I can shoot back with maximum cover.

"But what about…" Leah starts to interject, but I silence her with a look.

As soon as I get a clear shot of the incoming New American soldiers, I motion for my team to leave me as I unleash a round of bullets towards the enemy. Shooting has always been my strong suit, and I attempt to maim more than I kill. I can sense that my team has left, but I'm focused now, shooting an NA in the leg as I hear my radio crackle in my ear.

"Cullen, everyone is loaded up but you. Let's go!" My radio buzzes with Alice's voice now, and I know it's time to go. I spray my final few shots, then dismount and take off in a dead sprint towards the truck. It's a couple hundred feet in front of me and already starting to move in anticipation of my arrival. The back door is still open, and I can see Sam's team waiting for me, their guns ready to fire in my defense.

I can hear the bullets surrounding me, and my heart beats in my ears as I try to increase my pace. Just as I'm closing in on the truck, a tearing sensation rips through me, and with my current momentum, I tumble to the ground. I can hear a scream I recognize as Alice's, but for a second the voice blurs. For a second, she sounds like _her. _

I try to roll with the momentum that caused me to fall and managed to stumble back onto my feet. I hold my side where the pain is radiating through me, and with one last push of energy, I jump towards the platform and feel hands grab me, pulling me into the truck. I hear Sam whoop and then the truck takes off at full speed. Paul, Sam's brother, is closing the truck door while Leah starts pulling at my shirt to inspect the room.

"Damn it, Edward," she grits out when she gets a look at the bullet wound in my side. "You just had to go and get shot, didn't you? God, she would kill me if she knew I let you stay behind."

"Good thing she's not here then," I wince as Leah prods at my side. "Can you stop? You don't know what you're doing." The last words I hiss as she puts pressure on the bullet wound.

"That bullet tore you up," She tells me, and a throat clears behind her. There's a woman roughly the same age as me watching us meekly. Her blonde hair hangs limply at the sides of her face, and her skin is covered in dirt and a scratch or two - one of the refugees.

"I was a nurse," she tells us timidly, motioning to me. "I can help."

I smile at her as much as I can, try to assuage her fears. "Anything's got to be better than this one clawing at me," I joke and Leah flicks my head before getting up, muttering angrily to herself. I can hear some of the refugees crying deeper into the truck, but I try not to think about it. Someone else will tend to them.

The girl kneels beside me and starts to put pressure on the wound before taking a look to see the damage. She whistles at the sigh of it, then covers it up again. I watch her as she focuses, feeling lightheaded as the truck bumps over unsteady ground. Even dirty and bruised, she's very pretty. Too soft and pretty to have to deal with what she was facing once they moved her from that warehouse.

"What's your name?" I ask, feeling extremely tired all of a sudden. Her eyes flicker to mine, and her icy blue eyes bore into me.

"Irina," she tells me. "Thank you for saving us. I can't stand to think about what would have happened if you didn't."

I smile even as my vision starts to darken.

"It's what I do," I tell her, just before the darkness drags me under.

_. . . . . ._

I startle awake suddenly, my hand grasping at the bed, twisting in the sheets. My breath is ragged, and pain stabs my side, causing me to groan and fall back onto the bed.

"You need to be careful, you idiot," I hear a voice near me, and open my eyes to see Alice sitting next to my bed. "You could have died."

"Would've been worth it," I tell her, bracing myself before sitting up. Alice moves to help me, moving around my pillows to help prop me up. "How's everyone doing?"

She sits back down, watching me warily. "They're doing okay. Minor injuries to the team and the refugees are being worked with by the Canadians. They're really happy with our work out there today."

"Yay," I deadpan, watching her for a reaction. She frowns, then takes a deep breath, signaling to me that I won't like what she's about to say.

"She wouldn't want you to be sacrificing yourself like this." Pain radiates through me again, but this time, a different type of pain. We try our best not to talk about her, but sometimes it's inevitable. Regardless, even thinking about her hurts, and I'm in enough pain already.

"That's because she would be the one sacrificing herself if she was here and you know it," I tell Alice, and she sighs. We both know it's true.

"Maybe it's time we get her out of there," Alice starts talking quickly, frantically. "Or at least have one of our people on the inside check on her."

"No," I almost yell, then check myself, leaning my head back and closing my eyes. "She told us not to let anyone inside know about her. If they catch onto her, she's as good as fucking dead and you know it."

I hear a rustle and open my eyes to see Alice heading for the door, probably off to get Emmett or someone who won't rile me up, knowing that once I start yelling, she reached her limit with me. She pauses with her hand on the doorknob, and I wait for her parting words. They don't fail to shatter me.

"What if she's already dead, Edward? What if we're holding onto a dream that's already been killed?"

Before I can respond, she's gone, and the tears flow freely down my cheeks now that I'm alone.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks so much for the love and support! I love hearing your reactions to this story. The next chapter will be from Bella's point of view. What are you looking forward to seeing in her world? What will happen now that she knows Jasper might be on her side?_

_I also feel inclined to remind people that while this story with have a HEA for Bella & Edward (yes, they will be together!), they will be apart for a while, and that includes both of them sleeping with other people in this story. They don't consider it cheating, as they came to some type of agreement before they separated, which will be described later on, but it will definitely happen. I've been getting some reviews on my other stories about how "disappointed" people are in the way I choose to write my stories, so I figured I'd give that disclaimer here. Can't say I didn't warn you! They'll be together, but with some hiccups along the way. _

_Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or Handmaid's Tale, which this story might have some resemblance to._


	5. Leaps of Faith

**Chapter 5 - Leaps of Faith**

**Chapter Song: Pyramid Song by Radiohead**

* * *

_Screams pierce the air, terror evident, and I know it's happened. It's too soon. I pull my husband down with me, into the stairwell, trying to quell my panic. They'll make it into the stairwell soon, but I'm hoping I can send him away before that happens. _

"_Bella, we need to…" he starts, but I cover his mouth, silencing him with a look. _

"_It's time for me to go in," I tell him, and he starts to protest, but I keep talking. _

"_I'm going to go in. I'm going to learn what I can and then I'll get the fuck out of there. But I need you alive. I need you to get out of here. Now."_

_He's looking at me, and I can see his heart breaking. He grabs my arms, pulling me close to his body. _

"_Remember. Remember everything we said."_

"_How could I forget?" I whisper back, and can't help that my eyes are watering. He smashes his lips onto my own, and for a second it's just us. Husband and wife. Desperately in love, but with a duty to the world and humanity that makes even the purest love secondary. _

_We separate as quickly as we crashed together, and as we do, he pulls my wedding ring from my finger. I don't see where he puts it. _

"_You can't be caught," I tell him, but my voice is pleading. _

"_I know."_

_He continues to stare at me though, earnestly, intently, as if he's memorizing my face one last time. A crash nearby sounds, and he starts to back away. I'm sure tears are running down my face, and I look at him as much as I can through the tears, feeling a heaviness in my chest. For a second, I fear I can't do this without him. He wouldn't blame me if I changed my mind, but I knew I couldn't flake out on this. If anyone could survive in there, it would be me. _

"_I love you," he promises me. _

"_I love you," I whisper back. _

_And with that, he flees down the stairs, and I watch until he's disappeared. I wonder detachedly if it's the last time I'll see him. _

_Another crash above brings to my attention that I need to get moving, and I move up the stairs to the very top floor of our home base, where there are makeshift holding cells for war prisoners. They're currently empty, which is perfect for this. Removing the clean Rebel uniform I'm currently wearing and stowing it away, I strip to my underwear. There aren't any other clothes up here, but I can't be caught in a rebel uniform, otherwise, this plan won't work. My underwear should be humiliating and believable enough for the New American soldiers infiltrating our base - for the people who work for my father, who know the type of enemies he would acquire, those who would do anything to hurt him. They just don't know that I'm his biggest enemy. _

_I quickly find the key to the holding cells and unlock one of the doors, which really looks like a small office or conference room. In a past life, this building was full of corporate offices. Now, the carpets have been pulled up and the floors are concrete slabs, and quite dirty. I put the keys back on the rack in the hallway and grabbed a set of handcuffs that we kept up here. Once I locked myself in one of the rooms, I took a deep breath and laid down on the ground, rubbing as much of the dirt and grime on myself as possible. I make sure to get it in my fingernails, and my hair, until my skin feels rough and torn from the floors. If I hurt myself in the process, even better. _

_I hear a crash, and quickly move to handcuff myself tightly, locking myself against an exposed pipe in the wall, then pull against them as harshly as I can, creating red rings around my wrists that make it look like I've been wearing them much longer than two minutes. Another crash sounds, clearly on this floor, and I say goodbye to the Bella I was up until this moment. Now, I'm Isabella Swan, daughter of Charles Swan. Isabella Swan, prisoner of the rebellion. And it's time for me to be saved. _

"_Help!" I scream as much as I can, rattling my cuffs against the pipe and kicking against the wall closest to me. "Help! I'm in here! HELP!"_

_It doesn't take long for them to find the keys - even over my screaming I can hear them jangle, hear the talking. I blink rapidly, feeling real tears form in my eyes, but for different reasons than they'll think. I'm about to head into enemy territory on purpose, facing an unknown future, possibly never seeing my husband or my team again. I'm about to be taken to the heart of everything I stand against, and I'll have to pretend not to hate every second of it. _

_Good thing I took acting classes in high school. _

_The door swings open, revealing several New American soldiers, peering in at me in shock. I'm sure I make quite the scene - dirty young girl in her underwear, handcuffed to the wall, tears making tracks down a dirt-covered face. One of them walks into the room and peers at me, leering, "What do we have here?" I sniffle, pleading at him with my eyes. _

"_I'm Isabella Swan, my father is Charles Swan. They've been keeping me here, please help me!" Tears continue to flow from my eyes, and one of the men takes pity on me, coming towards me with the keys and removing the handcuffs from me. I rub at my wrists while they deliberate what to do with me. _

_They quiet down their arguing when the stairwell door opens again, revealing someone in a completely different uniform, someone who walks with a swagger that the others don't. He's slightly older than the rest, with slicked blonde hair and a cold stare. I start shaking now but with a real fear this time. He looks at the men, then at me, walking into the cell and crouching down next to me, using his fingers under my chin to direct my gaze to him. I flinch at the contact, but meet his icy blue eyes, watching as they scan my face. He smiles, showing me his teeth. _

"_You poor thing, separated from your daddy like this. Taken by these bad people," he coos, moving his hand to stroke my hair. "You're safe now, baby Swan. I'll take care of you." He motions to his men to grab something, and they bring him a military blanket. He wraps it around me, but I catch his wandering eyes. I shudder. _

"_Who are you?" I ask, my voice wavering. He smiles, petting my hair again. _

"_Senior General James Dubois. I'll take care of you, baby Swan." _

_And with strangely careful hands, he pulls me away from the life I love, into the pits of his hell. _

I startle awake, crashing out of my dream and back into reality with a gasping breath - common for me these days. Sun is filtering in through the window and dust motes dance around my drab room, and I inhale them, welcoming the burn of stale air.

The memories hurt, and I tried to block them out, but it was inevitable, remembering the last time I saw you. I heard word that no one had made it out of there without being killed or captured, but I have hope that you are still alive. I had to. I can't let myself believe that you're gone, otherwise, I would destroy myself in this place even more than I already was.

I choose to push that day from my thoughts - push you from my thoughts. There are other things to accomplish today, like talking to Jasper and figuring out what he knows. But how to do so without telling him who I am? Could I trust him enough to tell him?

An hour later, I find myself entering the Senior General's office and much like yesterday, he is surrounded by men. Unlike yesterday, he is standing and packing his briefcase. It finally hits me that Jasper had stolen something out of his office last night, something that must be important. I had been so caught up in the prospect of having an ally in this house that I had completely ignored everything else. _Stupid,_ I berated myself. Due to the lack of frantic behaviour from the Senior General, I could only assume that Jasper had photocopied what he stole, took the originals and left the copy behind. At least, that would be the smart thing for him to do.

I see Jasper standing in the corner of the room, but I try not to look at him. Too much contact would give us away and I don't think I could hide the hope in my eyes when I see him again.

"Miss Grey," the Senior General greets gruffly, and I know today is a bad day for him. He tends to be curter on bad days, and more likely to linger with his stares. I stand up slightly straighter.

"Yes, Senior General?" I'm demure, polite, and my voice is higher than normal. Before, this would be my 'customer service voice', as we used to call it. Fake.

"We're going to be heading into the Capital for a couple of days. Please pack a bag and be ready." He's looking down already, dismissing me, but I can't move quite yet. I'm shocked temporarily, stunned by this turn of events in my favor. Going to the Capitol means more freedom for me, as well as a chance to eavesdrop more. Maybe God finally feels bad for me.

"Pack a bag?" I ask, and I can't help but quickly glance over to where Jasper is standing, staring at the floor.

" Yes. And remember your titles," he chastises, exasperated.

I look down, acting ashamed, but I roll my eyes. "Of course, Senior General." _Pompous bastard. _

"You're dismissed. Be fast, please, Miss Grey?"

I nod, choosing not to reply verbally, and turn to leave for my room. I can't help my racing mind as I walk blindly back to my room, following the grooves in the hardwood to my drab little prison. Why are we going to the Capitol? Why for so long? Why am I allowed to go? Is this where he'll finally make his move, finally force himself on me like he's wanted to do ever since he discovered me in my underwear in that holding cell?

In my room, I swiftly pack a bag with a few outfits, as I don't know how long we're staying. Even if I run out, it's not like I can't mix and match the items that are still clean. My few allotted beauty items are thrown into the bag, my belted coat is thrown on. Once I'm done, I double-check that the door is closed, then walk into my closet. Counting out the floorboards, I find stuffed underneath the smallest one something I stole a long time ago - a steak knife. Slipping it into a cut I made in the lining of my jacket, I quickly put the floorboard back, moving as quietly as possible. I don't know that I would ever do anything with it, this feeble weapon in my pocket, but it gives me peace of mind.

It's as I'm turning to exit my room that the door suddenly swings open, and Jasper stalks in authoritatively. I look at him, wide-eyed, watching as he surveys my room intensely before finally settling his eyes on me. His stare bores into me, and I can't look away. Defiantly, I feel my chin turn up, challenging him silently.

"I'm here to escort you to the car, Miss Grey," is all he says, and he strides quickly over to me, grabbing my suitcase from my hands. I look up at him, standing less than a foot apart now, and meet his eyes. I can't bail out. My heart is beating so fast, I fear he can hear it from where he stands.

"Whatever you're apart of, I am too," I whisper to him, and his eyes widen slightly. The air around us suddenly changes, tightening, coiling around us like electricity.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he whispers back, and though he attempts to sound harsh, it falls flat. I press on, emboldened by his response, his inability to completely deny his involvement in something bigger.

"Yes, I do," I insist, and I take my biggest leap of faith since arriving in this awful place. "I'm the one who led the Rebellion."

* * *

_A/N: Sorry for the long wait between updates! I've been traveling all month, and I just finished this chapter in an airport lounge. LOL! Should I keep going? Still interested? What else would you like to see? Let me know!_

_Also, thanks to everyone who has been sharing this story! I love you guys so much! xx orionsnights_


	6. Suits

**Chapter 6: Suits**

"_I'm the one who led the Rebellion."_

Jasper stares at me, shocked, his eyes raging with conflict. I meet his gaze, raising my chin defiantly. Our staredown continues until we hear a voice calling for Jasper, probably wondering where he is with the _Grey. _Instead of saying anything, he stalks off with my suitcase, forcing me to follow him through the house and out to the town car.

Of course, I'm forced to ride in a car with the Senior General, but he sits in the front with Jasper while I sit in the back like the prisoner I really am. They chat and laugh and ignore me, but I hear what they say - the jokes they make about a battle in the North, the way they get hushed when they talk about the United Kingdom, and then louder, angrier when they talk about Canada. I catalog it all and I play the waiting game.

One day, I'll win.

The drive is long, and I eventually pretend to sleep, listening to them talk. At this point, it's one-sided gossip about other men they work with - the Senior General gossips and Jasper grunts in acknowledgment occasionally. Suddenly, a silence overwhelms the car, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I can _feel_ his eyes, and I have to force myself to keep breathing deeply, the illusion of sleep.

"Who knew that fucker Swan could make such a fucking stunner," he says, and he sounds wistful, or lustful, or both. "Thank God he was dead by the time I found her, I doubt he'd have let me keep her. Selfish fucker." His words give me chills, and I resist the urge to hold my breath, my ears straining for Jasper's response.

"Find her?" Jasper asks, his Texas twang quiet, his voice low.

"Yeah," the Senior General snorted. "Found her in nothing but her underwear, handcuffed to a radiator. She was being held prisoner by the Rebellion. We got her in that big raid last year, brought her back. I had her transitioned into a Grey, made sure they let me keep her. I was hoping she'd put out sooner, but she's a timid little thing."

My eyes clench as he speaks into existence what I've already suspected. Senior General James DuBois may act like a holier-than-thou bible thumper, but he's just as dirty and disgusting as the rest of them. His wife may have been onto something, although her anger was directed the wrong way.

Jasper coughs, and I wonder what he's thinking. Is he drawing connections to me and the rebellion? Is he remembering whisperings of _her_? Does he recall hearing about _the girl inside_? Or have they blacked out my name, telling no one about me, waiting for me to return, if I ever do? A distant beacon of hope for the Rebellion, the leader dismantling this disgusting regime with meticulous care from the inside? I wonder and wonder and wonder….

"Figured taking her out of that house might loosen her up, make her more receptive. I've been dying for some young pussy. My wife just ain't cut out for me anymore."

My stomach turns, and suddenly Jasper cuts in. Even I can hear how tense he sounds, his warm Texas voice suddenly cold. "You need to be careful with this. We're going to the Capitol." I can sense he wants to curse, but he's respectful. He has to play a role.

The Senior General laughs. "Those fucking idiots do it too! You don't even know the depraved shit they do. Plus, this girl owes me. There's no telling what those heathens would have done to her if I hadn't saved her."

It's time for me to wake up.

I can't take this.

I need to find a way out of this.

I suddenly stretch and mime waking up, blinking rapidly. I catch the Senior General glancing back and I feign a shy smile.

"Sleeping Beauty awakens!" He exclaims boisterously and I cringe. "We'll be at the Capitol shortly. Be ready to present yourself. This is a very big trip for you, Miss Grey."

My body is frozen, my heart is in my throat. This is one of the few times I've been genuinely scared since going under. I glance up to the rearview mirror where Jasper is looking at me. I meet his eyes, and it seems we've reached our agreement.

We're working together.

….

Before, I always hated stuffy men in suits. I hated how slimy they looked, even the attractive ones. Slicked hair, shiny shoes, dull shoes; fat ties, skinny ties; poorly fit white shirts. I hated it all.

That still hasn't changed.

Walking into the Capitol, I realize I'm the only woman here, aside from the receptionist who I recognize as another key figure's wife. I wonder how hard she must have fought to get that job. I wonder what she deals with here. I wonder if I can talk to her.

And I'm being swiftly led away.

Back to the stuffy suits - there are dozens in this building, running around, pretending to be important as they lead this country to whatever new hell they can concoct in their self-righteous minds. I wonder what's happening to bring the Senior General here so suddenly, but then remember I have my own things to worry about on this trip, and perhaps I will not be able to gather as much information as I originally thought.

"Jasper, please lead Miss Grey to the woman's visiting room so she can drop her bags, then bring her into the Washington Hall. I have a meeting that I need her to take notes for."

Jasper stops walking, and I follow his lead, watching as the Senior General continues on, his disgusting swagger causing his shoes to squeak even louder against the marble floors. Once the Senior General and his other team members are a respectable distance away, Jasper begins to walk the other way and lead me to an elevator. He was silent and refused to look at me, but I followed his gaze to a camera in the corner. I assumed this was his way of telling me we were being watched. Arriving on the third floor, I follow him through the halls of the Capitol, which apparently holds rooms for visitors, including one - only one - specifically designated for women visiting. Upon entering, I realized it was completely bare- not many women visit the Capitol like this. Jasper lingered in the hall for a moment, looking both ways, before he quickly stepped into the Women's room, shutting the door behind him. I open my mouth to speak, but he shushes me with a finger to the lips, taking out what looks like a little phone, but I quickly realized that he's searching for bugs. Once he deemed the room safe, he looks at me in a way I have never seen from him before, suddenly earnest, slightly desperate.

"Listen, we don't have time to go into the details of how you're so deep into this, and I may end up regretting this, but I trust you. You haven't ratted me out for being in the house the other night, and I can see how you may have been transplanted in here, especially considering who your father was." He takes a deep breath, shaking his head like he can't believe that he is talking to me with so much candor. I grab his hand, urging him to continue. It's stupid how easy it is for me to default to his words, whereas Before I would have taken charge of the situation before Jasper even had a chance to speak. Just another reason I need to get out of here.

"We'll be staying at Commander Volturi's house tonight. I'll be doing some _work_ while everyone is sleeping, but we both know that the Senior General's intentions are less than honorable for you. Luckily, I'm close with the person who runs night security in Volturi's house - I'll make sure someone is always in the hallway you're bedroom will be off of. This should deter the Senior General, but if it doesn't, we need a backup plan."

"I have a steak knife," I admit, quickly untying my coat and showing Jasper the cut in my jacket. He smirks at me, temporarily amused at my weapon, but then digs through his suit pants and produces a folded tactical knife, making my steak knife look flimsy and plastic in comparison.

"Take this too," he urges, and I quickly slip it into my coat, wrapping myself back up again and tying the knot on its belt. "If it comes to this, I'll make sure you get out of there."

His eyes are on me, searching, and after a moment, he nods, prepared to lead me to our next destination. I quickly stop him by grabbing his arm, pulling him around to face me.

"Who do you report back to?" I ask, and he hesitates, glancing away from me. I sigh, frustrated.

"Alice? Emmett? Leah? Come on, I need to kn-"

"Leah," he tells me, and I sigh in relief. She's alive. And if she's alive, then…

"Do you know of Edward?" I demand, and he shakes his head, but I only grip him tighter. Desperate is too mild a word to describe me at this moment. "Do you know about Edward?" I feel my eyes tearing up, feel your name on my tongue, foreign-sounding, it's been so long since I've uttered it. Jasper simply looks at me, and I can tell he believes me now. This isn't something I could fake, not about you.

"No," he whispers, gently removing my hand from his arm. "I haven't heard anything from or about an Edward."

And he leads me out of the room, and I pretend I'm not devastated.

* * *

_A/N: Long time, no see, everyone! Who knew it would take state-wide lockdown to get me to finish the next chapter, huh? This has been a super crazy time for my husband and me, but we're pushing through, and I hope you guys are too! At first, we were really down about lay-offs and the current economy, so writing a super depressing chapter was not my first priority. BUT I feel much better today, so here's to more good days and lots of writing! What are you guys reading right now? I'm in need of a good fic as I wait for my faves to come back with updates. Also, please let me know what you thought of this chapter! I love hearing from you guys. xx orionsnights_


	7. Preparations

_A/N: Well. Here I am. I'm not sure if anyone has missed me or not, but it's been a few months. Since I last updated, I have since quit my very good job, moved back to the Pacific Northwest with my husband, and spent time helping out my family, settling into a new job, etc. etc. boring boring boring. While I have still been reading fanfic, I haven't felt super motivated to write - I'm hoping that ends soon. So, here's a chapter of this story that I was working on. Would you guys like for me to focus on this story? Or is there another story of mine that you would rather I work on? I love to hear from everyone. I know I'm terrible at responding to reviews (to be fair, I was new to the fanfic realm and didn't really know proper etiquette for these type of things), but I still love to hear your thoughts! Also, if anyone has any new recs for me, I'd love to hear them LOL. All love, everyone. Seriously. This world is too shitty these days, so let this be a space for positivity and love. Now here's my super depressing story._

_I own nothing but a few slivers of plot and character development. The rest belongs to Stephanie Meyer and Margaret Atwood. _

* * *

**Chapter 7 - Preparations**

_Chapter Song - Exit Music (For A Film) - Radiohead_

When I first was brought into New America, I was resolved. I was so strong, and brave, and ready to listen and learn anything I could. I didn't cry at night as I fell asleep, nor did I wake up with nightmares or startle awake searching for you. I didn't drown in self-pity, I didn't search for you in the eyes of other men, or in their stance, or their hair.

Now I don't feel as strong.

I feel fragile, like glass, like I'm falling apart. I'm deep within myself, never escaping my own thoughts, no matter how much they destroy me, tearing at bone and sinew and soul until I'm aching for you. They run through my mind, a waterfall of foam and debris, crashing on top of each other in front of my eyes, the sounds of the words roaring, filling my ears until I can't even hear my low heels click against the marble floors of the epicenter of this hell. They consume me, until finally, I grasp the main one, the one in bolded print, all-consuming.

He doesn't know Edward.

He's never heard of Edward.

He knows Leah but knows nothing about Edward.

I follow behind Jasper, but inside I'm collapsing. Was any of this worth it if I never see you again? How much of a difference can I truly make here?

This is so fucked up.

I fucked up.

Please get me the fuck out of here.

I'm escorted into a waiting area, where I notice the Senior General standing in the center of the room talking with an equally middle-aged white male, who under normal circumstances I might think was handsome, but in my despaired and panic-ridden mind, I just see him for what he is - another fucking douchebag, someone who took away every liberty I held dear. Fuck this guy.

"Miss Grey, you're back!" The Senior General is using his diplomatic voice, so I brace myself, despite my racing thoughts. A smile and a straight spine, despite my lowly position. "This is Commander Volturi, he's the head of the Capitol office here. He's the one you can thank for your position in my household."

I want to kill both of these men. Instead, I nod graciously.

"It's very nice to meet you, sir. Thank you for being so generous as to let us stay in your home. It's nice to get out every once in a while." I say this like it's a confession, like I'm admitting something secret. The Commanders and Senior Generals here like to feel special, like we are grateful for the prisons they've put us in. They love to be generous to their obedient little girls.

"Of course, Miss Grey. Anything for the daughter of Charles Swan," he laughs, looking at me too intently for comfort. I smile slightly, and Jasper is stiff next to me. They engage him in a conversation, dismissing me from my duty of speaking with them and placing me back in the role of the silent, pretty girl to look at. I'm only too happy when we're beckoned into the meeting hall.

Jasper escorts me to my seat along the back wall, directly behind the Senior General, but despite his status with the General, he is asked to leave and assist with security in the building during the meeting. I refuse to look at him as he exits the room, aware of all of the feelings welling inside of me, afraid they might burst from the seams.

He doesn't know Edward.

The meeting starts, at first quite boring as they recount the inner workings of their trades with other countries. I took notes for the Senior General like I was expected to, but also had my own private page in my notebook where I marked which companies were privately trading with New America, despite publicly claiming they wouldn't work with terrorists. I think to myself that if I get out of here, I can share which countries are working with New America on the sly, as well as give them names and inside information regarding the sexism, racism, classism, and bigotry that these people operate under. I'm hoping that's enough to fuel a full media campaign against New America, as well as encourage and drive other countries to take action against them. I am content with this small offering, not as devastating as I thought I would be, but enough to power a revolution.

But then, a map is put on display in the front of the room, and I'm fighting to remain impassive. These fucking idiots don't realize they've just handed me their demise on a silver platter. This here is exactly what I've been waiting for - exactly what I need. On the map are locations of planned future attacks the New America is planning - bold red dots of places they want to target, including the progression into Canada. I stare as subtly as I can, scribbling tiny notes that I can hide, trying to memorize the map. On the outside, I'm the picture of calm and collected - poised, legs primly crossed, taking notes in my state issued notebook. On the inside, I'm elated, my despair temporarily forgotten.

This is my ticket out of here.

\- . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - .

Upon our arrival to the Commander's house, I excuse myself to my room under the guise of freshening up. This pleases the men, who love to think that everything I do is entirely for them. But instead, I'm ripping the pages from my notebook that include information that I'll need and stuffing them in my bra. Knowing the intentions of the Senior General on this trip has further solidified my new goal - getting the fuck out of here.

I sort through my bag as quickly as possible and pull out everything that I can hide on my body easily and would be helpful while on the run. I quickly found a few pairs of sock and underwear that I can layer on under my clothes, as well as a pair of thick wool stockings and a sweater I usually only wore at night. I shoved them all under the bed where I could grab them quickly, along with my coat and my little weapons tucked in the lining. I decided to keep the papers on my person, in case someone were to go through my room at any point in time. I couldn't be too careful with them as they were basically the only thing keeping me sane and driven at this point.

The Commander's house is large, and too grand for my taste, too rich for my blood. The main staircase is huge, curving around the side of the foyer, complete with an elaborate chandelier. There are maids running around the house, frantic to finish dinner, and I know that the Senior General and Commander are in the library having an aperitif. I have no clue where the Commander's wife is and assume Jasper is with the other men, so I head into the kitchen to help the maids. One of them quickly puts me to work slicing a rich Russian black bread at the island of the kitchen. There are three loaves to slice through, and it's while I'm working on the second one that a man walks into the kitchen.

He's slim and muscular, not as tall as Jasper, but still impressive in his stature. His face is grim, and his long dark hair is pulled back into a bun. As soon as he walks into the kitchen from the back door, his gaze lands on me and stays. His eyes linger, even as he approaches me, maneuvering his way around the bustling kitchen with ease. He is clearly a member of the security detail in the house, and for a moment I wonder if he's onto me, if he's about to out me. Instead, he mutters two words almost silently as he passes by me, and then slips out the door soundlessly, moving deeper into the house, and I'm left stunned. Two words, and suddenly this whole thing doesn't seem so daunting.

_Be ready._


End file.
